


Witness Protection

by Ceallaigh



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Challenge Response, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceallaigh/pseuds/Ceallaigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on 25 April 2004 for the Spuffy Fanfication.</p><p>Set sometime after Something Blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Witness Protection

"This is ridiculous!" Spike announced as he followed Giles around the cluttered living room. A prisoner in the land of musty books. "It's not fair!"

Picking up the forgotten magazine and placing it on the coffee table, the watcher replied, "I think you are forgetting the simple fact that this is my house Ergo, you must abide by my rules. There's not a chance in hell that I will let you roam unsupervised while I'm away."

Oh, how the mighty had fallen. Slayer of slayers, merciless vampire reduced to nothing more than an unwanted houseguest. "And just what the bloody hell do you think I'll do? Rearrange your pots and pans? Chat up the lovely ladies on a one-nine-hundred number?" he added with an incredulous stare.

"I wouldn't put it past you," Giles retorted as he picked up the dirty teacup sitting on the end table and headed toward the kitchen. He ran the cup under the tap before putting it in the dishwasher. "You are, after all, evil and still very much a monster."

"Ooooh, that's right, kiddies," Spike warned the unseen masses, sarcasm flowing bitterly off his tongue as he ranted, "beware of the evil vampire. He might short-sheet your bed when you aren't looking."

Hopping up on the kitchen counter, he let his feet dangle. The heels of his boots quietly thumped against the cupboards below. "Come on, Rupert," he added, his shoulders slouching in defeat, "I don't need a bloody babysitter. It's downright insulting."

Giles turned to face him, his expression nothing short of serious. "You think you've got the short end of this deal? Never fancied myself part of the Odd Couple, yet here you are. I don't care what you bloody well think, Spike. I can go get the chains and lock you up in the bathroom again. Your choice."

He'd just been paroled from the loo. Porcelain tiles, a drippy faucet, and two and a half channels on a little black and white telly. Cleary it was the tenth circle of hell. He'd rather gnaw off his left arm than go back there. Spike's jaw clenched for a moment as he considered his options. "Fine," he seethed. He wasn't going to beg, but there was nothing dignified about this concession. "When does the warden arrive?"

Like clockwork, the front door opened and someone entered the apartment. "Giles," Buffy called out from the entryway, "I'm here!"

Panic, or perhaps it was disgust, rose up from his gut. "No!" Spike protested and his eyes grew wide with horror. "I'm not going to spend the night with the slayer."

"It's only for few hours."

"She wants to kill me."

"Everyone wants to kill you, what's one more person?" Giles pointed out. "You should be used to it by now."

Spike hopped down from the counter and smoothed out his jeans. "On second thought, let her kill me," he insisted. "Anything's gotta be better than this pathetic excuse for protective custody. At least if I'd been a stool pigeon for the mafia, the feds woulda given me a new identity, a posh house in the burbs, and all the blood and smokes I could ever want. What do I get? Day old pig's blood, a lumpy couch to rest my weary head, and a stodgy old librarian."

"Spike," Giles pointed out, "if she wanted to kill you, she would have already done the deed. Buffy is doing me a favor, and I'll remind you that your other options are less desirable."

Buffy made her way to the kitchen and set a stack of textbooks and papers on the counter beside Spike. Saluting Giles, she announced with a smile, "Ready for babysitting duty!"

"Slayer," Spike greeted her with a sneer. "Don't need a governess. Can take care of myself, thank you very much."

"Good," she spat back, "because I need to cram for a psych midterm. You leave me alone, and you don't wind up fitting into an ashtray by the end of the night, got it?"

"Right," he countered, puffing himself up as much as possible. Swagger and bravado, he'd throw it both at her. "Dad said if I'm good, I can stay up 'til nine tonight."

Giles quickly stepped between them before their childish little spat could escalate. "Buffy, you shall not taunt Spike," he warned. "And, Spike, there will be no revenge of the babysat. If you two do not comply, I suppose I could lock you both in the bathroom and let you tear each other apart. Lord knows I deserve the peace and quiet that will result from your collective demise."

"A caged match you say?" Spike asked, his eyebrow arching with curiosity. "Do we get those nifty folding chairs to smack each other with?"

"Enough!" Giles said once and for all. "I'm running late, and as much as I want to stay and referee this wrestling match of yours, I must be going. Buffy, I'll be back by eleven. Spike, stay out of Buffy's way."

The two followed Giles to the living room as he gathered up his coat and hurried out the door.

Once the front door clicked shut, Buffy grabbed her books and set them on the coffee table and settled into a spot on the sofa. She grabbed her highlighter and opened her notebook. "I mean it, Spike," she said, laying down the ground rules. "I have a test tomorrow, so just leave me alone. Why don't you just go to your room or something."

He flipped the television on and quickly scanned the channels. Settling with a creature feature on the Sci Fi channel, he stalked over to the sofa and settled into the seat next to her. "You're in my room. Been hanging ten on the couch, so shove over."

++++

Their uneasy détente lasted through the end of the cheesy cable movie. The film ended and Spike got up and changed the channel. This time it was an old rerun of the Honeymooners. He glanced over at her pile of notes and asked, "So what's a girl like you doing spending a night with the likes of me? Don't you have that little Carter, Hunter, whatever his trendy little name is to snog or something?"

"Parker," she quietly answered, not even bothering to look up from her books. "His name was Parker. And no, we're not together. Not that it's any of your business."

"Ah, always figured he'd last longer than one poke," he commented as he took a sip from his beer. "But then again, I imagine it would be hard to have a relationship when you're just the rebound boy. Broody Pants is a tough act to follow."

"It wasn't really a relationship," she started to answer only to have her brow worry into a frown. "It was..."

"Convenient?" he answered.

Her cheeks flushed for a moment. Sadness, perhaps a touch of shame clouded her eyes. The words had stung. Hit home and taken the wind out of her sails. A college romp, and nothing more. Spike, for all of his huff and puff, had really gotten to the root of it in two seconds flat.

"Yeah, I suppose it was," she quietly replied, fidgeting with the open page of her book. The confidence that came with the slayer package vanished for a few moments. And for the first time ever, Spike saw her vulnerability. It had always been there, he figured. Funny how he'd never seen it before.

College girls, they were all the same. Experimenting with boys, sometimes other girls. Liquor, maybe drugs. Endless mistakes made in the name of newfound freedom. Buffy had been no different, he was sure of it. But gauging from the look on her face, the sadness in her eyes, she wasn't pleased with the outcome. The opportunity was there. Hit her hard when she was down, a sucker punch with biting words that could wound as much as a fist or axe.

Instead, he couldn't believe he heard himself say, "You want me to kick his ass?"

She didn't say anything, but she let out a little snort of a laugh that finally broke the tension.

"You say the word, and I'll rip his throat out for you."

A little smile escaped her lips, and she was obviously touched by his violent version of chivalry. "What about the whole blinding headache thing? I thought you were pretty much flaccid?"

His lips tightened at the insult. "You watch yourself, missy," he warned, "I may not be able to bite anything, but I'll have you know the other parts of me are still in working order."

She let out an unintelligible sound of disgust and rolled her eyes. "More than I ever needed to know," she remarked, "and way too far into the land of too much information. And what's with the sudden need to get medieval on the ex-fling?"

"Just defending my betrothed's honor, that's all." And with that, he got up from the couch and headed toward the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he retrieved another beer and twisted the cap off. He took a little swig as he headed back to the living room.

She looked up from her notes with an irritated glare. With a huff, Buffy set her highlighter down and quickly pointed you. "Ew, Spike, we are so not betrothed. It was a spell, remember? For the record, I don't even like you."

"I never got my ring back," he answered flopping back down beside her on the couch. She pulled away as their knees briefly touched. "Back in my day, if a girl broke it off, she'd return the ring. So either we need to set a date, or you're giving me my ring back."

Her hands bunched into twin fists and she let out an exasperated sigh. If looks could kill, he'd have, at the very least, a bloody nose. Maybe a concussion. "Fine," she gritted out. "I'll get your stupid ring back to you. Didn't know that the ugly thing meant so much to you."

Kicking his feet up onto the coffee table, he shrugged as he answered, "It doesn't. I just don't want you to have it. As it is, I'm going to have to disinfect it. All covered in slayer cooties and such."

Her book slammed shut, and Spike could hear her heartbeat speed up a hair. "What are you, twelve?" she spat, "I said I'd give it back!"

"Good," he answered with a satisfied chuckle. Oh, how it was fun getting under her skin. Didn't take much to get her all riled up, cheeks flushed, nostrils flaring. "So the offer still stands. You want it to look like a hideous accident? They'd be finding Barker parts for weeks."

"It's Parker," she corrected him. The anger melted away and her features softened. She really was a pretty girl when she wasn't all business. "No thanks. Think I'll let him live. But the knight in shining armor bit is kind of amusing."

He gave it some thought, took another swig and paused. After a moment he answered, "Just sayin', and don't get me wrong because, hello, still evil...but if you were my intended, I'd treat you right."

She leapt to her feet but had no place to go. "Oh really? What do you know about love?" she asked. "You're a vampire. You're supposed to be 'I vant to drink your bludd,' not have grand ideas of romance."

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and counted to five before opening them again before turning to face her. She could make him see red in two seconds flat. Holding up an index finger, he said, "One, no vamp ever says that, well except for maybe Dracula. But he's just a poncy git who's one giant walking cliché. So never mind."

"Wait, he's real?" she interrupted.

"Of course he's real. Now where was I?" he answered with a dismissive wave of the hand before his middle finger joined the first one. "Two, I know plenty about love Was with the same bird for over a century and didn't waver. Loved long and hard. Know how to treat a woman right."

Those little hands of hers went to her hips and she tilted her head to the side. "And just how did that work out with Godzilla?"

He rose to his feet and stood toe to toe with her. Staring her down, he felt the little muscle on the side of his eye start to twitch. "Her name's Drusilla," he corrected. "And that's not the point. What I'm saying is, a woman deserves to be treated like a bloody queen. Those boys like Percy..."

"Parker"

"...Whoever ... don't know the first thing about making a woman tick." His voice softened as he tried to explain. "Selfish wankers, they are. In it for themselves. Wham, bam, don't let the door hit you on the way out. Three thrusts and they're down for the count in a bear-soaked, sweaty mess."

Buffy stood fixated, fascinated by his every word. He moved slowly as not to startle her. Her hair felt like spun silk, a few strands catching on rough calluses of his palm. "No, if you were my betrothed, I'd treat you like a woman. Not some frat boy conquest."

"Go on." He took it as an invitation to explain further. How funny it was to be seducing a slayer, not hunting one. Killing the other two was better than sex, more intoxicating than opium. Wooing a third, now that was the most arousing of them all. It made him hard. It made him feel alive.

Goosebumps erupted across her skin when he brushed the back of his hand down her cheek and skimmed it across her collarbone. Taking a step forward, he closed the distance between them until he could feel the heat radiate off her body. Her skin had the faint and delicate scent of ginseng soap. Fresh, clean. Alive. "You wouldn't be convenient. You'd be more precious than silver. More valuable than gold."

She didn't shrink away when he leaned forward to cup her face with both of his hands. Her lips parted ever so slightly as he kissed her. The first one tentative, the second one sweet and slow like molten honey. Languid and deep, it could be so easy to drown in it. It was too good to be true. They should be fighting tooth and nail, not embracing like long-lost lovers.

"I may be a monster," he whispered against her lips, "but I could treat you right if you gave me the chance."

He half-expected a swift kick in the head and summary staking for his actions, but he was more than shocked when she hungrily kissed him back and welcomed his tongue past her lips. Spike eased their bodies back to the couch before her knees could buckle. Not more than a wisp of a thing, she was weightless on his lap. Her eyes lit with innocence and desire. Her head lolled back and she let out a breathy moan as he kissed the length of her neck, landing in the sweet spot behind her ear.

His hands roamed everywhere - the small of her back, the curve of her arm, the muscles of her thighs. She glowed. "You see, love," he said, fingers tracing a lazy trail up her inner thigh and hiking up her skirt, "the way to a woman's heart isn't down there." His caresses abruptly stopped long enough for him to press the most gentle of kisses into her temple. "It's here," he added.

With her skirt bunched up around her waist, Buffy swung a leg over his lap and straddled his hips. Her fingers tugged at his t-shirt, pulling him a bit closer. It was her turn to explore. Tiny hands, power and might hid in her petite form. It was a mind-blowing juxtaposition. Shivers rushed down his spine as she traced the arch of his eyebrow and studied the jagged scar above his left eye.

"How did you get this?" she asked.

"War wound," he replied simply. No need to elaborate.

Her hands wandered lower, over his chest and finally brushing up against the denim confines of his cock. He hardened instantly in reply. She said nothing as she tugged at his belt buckle and unzipped his fly. A little hesitant, and definitely inexperienced, she drew him forth and gently stroked his arousal. Reduced to a puddle of jelly, all Spike could do was groan his approval.

"So what else would you do?" she asked with a smirk playing on her features, "y'know, if we were still engaged? Hypothetically speaking of course."

Her eyes sparkled, and the tip of her tongue darted over her lip as she waited for his answer. No need to hurry. He was going to take his time, savor the moment and let it last forever. All he wanted was to be beneath her, above her, surrounded by her. Drowning in her. She put up no protest as his skillful hands slipped beneath her bunched up skirt and hiked it an inch higher.

"We'd dance," he whispered. A kiss to the angle of her jaw. Her pulse throbbed below his lips. Intoxicating, her blood called to him from below.

She was wearing one of those girly little thongs, a strip of satin and lace. He pushed it aside as he eased her hips up and guided her home. Buffy's eyes grew wide, her pupils dilating in response as he slid inside. A startled gasp, a whisper of a moan and she was all his. One hand on her thigh, the other supporting the small of her back, he rocked gently into her, guiding their movement until she settled into her own pace.

"We'd dance all night," he repeated before capturing her mouth in his.

Buffy braced her hands on either of his shoulders, and he felt her shudder as her breath hitched in her chest. She quickened the pace and ground her hips into his as they moved. A kiss, a caress, he drank her in. The salt of her skin, the jasmine in her hair, he wanted it all.

Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink as she inched closer to climax. Her body started to quiver and her movements became more erratic. The look of wonderment in her eyes made him even harder. His thumb played at the apex of her thighs, finding its target as her mouth grew slack.

"Oh god," she groaned, her body tightening all around him.

One hand palmed her cheek, thumb skimming across her lower lip until she drew it into her mouth and suckled the tip briefly. Hazel eyes met his, lids hooded with need. "Spike," she breathed, "I... I..."

"That's it," he urged. "Spend for me, love. Let it go."

That was all she needed. She arched her back and gasped once, twice before collapsing forward and moaning his name into his mouth. Shuddering, she pulled him toward the precipice before dragging him over the edge with her.

They clung together, riding out the final aftershocks. Her pulse gradually slowed, and her body melted into his. A thin sheen of sweat slicked her skin, and her kisses never tasted sweeter. Spent and too exhausted to move, she rested her forehead against his. It might have been his one and only chance with her, but he wasn't ready to let her go just yet. Sure, they'd go back to being mortal enemies once she'd come to her senses. But for now, in his arms, she was his.

One last kiss to her lips, another to the center of her palm before he broke the silence. As she leaned back, he tucked a stray tendril behind her ear. "Now that is how I'd treat you if you were mine."


End file.
